This morning, I woke up and discovered that I’d been castrated.
I have no idea when this happened. Could have happened last night or last year. I don’t even discount the possibility that this unfortunate act could have been visited upon me, a few seconds after birth. All I know is that this morning is when I finally noticed.
Oh, and I’m not married, so that’s not how it happened.
Ok, ok, a bit sexist, but that observation isn’t entirely without provocation.
A married friend of mine told me a story that disturbed me to no end and fanned the flames of my intolerance. Apparently, his wife makes him get up in the morning and sit on the toilet for a few minutes, to warm up the seat for her. Even though he doesn’t need to get up until two hours later.
Now that’s castration!
Back to me. When I say I’ve been castrated, I mean that in the Kafkaesque sense. I haven’t really been set upon by a blunt butter-knife wielding Lorena Bobbitt-wannabe, who’s proceeded to toss my unmentionables out of a speeding car. My castration refers to the number of things that I am no longer allowed to do, in return for the so-called privilege of being part of civilisation.
Don’t get me wrong: civilisation has its benefits. Hundreds of years ago, life expectancy was in the thirties; hygiene was so bad that black teeth were actually fashionable in Shakespearean days and it was a stigma not to have them because it meant you weren’t able to afford sweet food (look it up, if you don’t believe me). And when someone didn’t like your face, they lopped your head off and gave it to their kids to play with.
Plus, the state of toilets in the old days was disgraceful. Imagine my married friend’s dilemma if he lived in those days. But that’s got nothing to do with the point I’m making.
But in return for the privileges of living to a ripe old age and not being laid waste by the plague, or the ruling class, restrictions are imposed on personal freedom to benefit all.
And that’s where the problem starts.
You see, just because something starts out with good intentions, doesn’t mean it’ll end that way. It’s simply human nature to screw others over, for different reasons.
People castrate you to make themselves feel better. Because they resent you a freedom that they don’t have or because some of them don’t like that you belong to a different group than them. Individuality is punished by these people, because it threatens their group-first mentality.
Government castrates you because it thinks it knows what you need, better than you. It also thinks you’re too stupid, scared, incompetent, weak and poor to decide your own fate. The irony is that in order to make unchallenged decisions, allegedly for your benefit, it has to make sure you stay stupid, scared, incompetent, weak and poor.
It takes away the laws that protect you under the pretext that these same laws might also protect the bad people. It takes away your right to elect leaders by marginalizing those who display competence or outspokenness, and painting them as bad people. It takes away the freedom to make you happy and hopeful, because if you become too happy and hopeful, you might be motivated to demand change from them.
And if you stand up to them, after everything they’ve done for you . well, if you’re not grateful, then you must be bad yourself.
Media and business are in bed together (if you’re wondering where advertising is, it’s standing outside the bedroom, pimping them both out) and their job is to castrate your sense of free will. You see, and I hate to break it to all you slumbering lemmings, there’s more to life than shopping and TV.
One is altruism. Helping others with no expectation of being paid back (or just paid) for it. And by not being paid back, I also mean not doing it because you think it’ll ease your passage into the afterlife. Or worse, only helping members of your religious group because others . well, it doesn’t pay to help them, does it?
Another is self-expression. Nurturing whatever talent God gave you to create something, beautiful or original. You know, something to feed the soul, not just the body or the pocket. Hobbies or passions. I’m pretty sure that there is no Arabic word for either of those two. Or if there are, they’ve become rusty from misuse. And if you don’t believe me, how many parents do you know who really encourage their kids to pursue either?
And therein lies the real tragedy of the Egyptian spirit: the twin losses of our individuality and selflessness. The oppression of those in power has succeeded in severing the Seminal Vesicle and tying up the Vas Deferens, castrating us all with a blunt, rusty blade. But it doesn’t stop there. They’ve actually succeeded in teaching us how to do it to ourselves and our kids, so they don’t have to. To qualify for a free castration kit, all you have to do is not ask questions. Ever.
So what’s the answer? Well, you can stay and fight the good fight or you can leave, like me, and wash your hands of the whole mess. But either way, you won’t get far in this world without a decent pair.
Mohammed Nassar was kidnapped at birth and forced to work in advertising, in Cairo, New York and London. Today, his main concern is that archaeologists will one day stumble upon his desk, debate the value of his profession and judge him. Feel free to email him at [email protected].
